this is our homecoming (this is a land half forgotten)

6

The measters are trying to teach him how to read.

It's not going well.

"I'm a Lord."  He pushes at the papers and sendsthem scattering, and the measter beside him sighs, rolls his eyes.  If Arya was here, she'd be laughing.  If Samsa was here, she'd tell him to stop being so stupid.  "Can't I just command someone to read these for me?"

"And how will you know they're telling you the truth?"  The measter is unruffled.  So far, he hasn't reacted to a single thing that Gendry has said, no matter how foul or angry.  He wonders if Jon had put a request to the citadel specifically for him, like, must not startle at loud noises or swear words and be patient enough to teach someone exceptionally stupid a lifetime of lordship lessons in the span of half a year, and must also put up with the youngest Stark girl trailing around at lessons like a lost puppy.  This one seems to fit the bill.  "Besides, isn't it always better to be able to do things for yourself?"

Gendry glared at him.

"I'm already a lord.  Men don't follow men who can read some script on a fancy piece of paper."  He was sulking.  "They follow men who can fight, and I can do that plenty."

"And are you planning on living in a constant state of war?  I'm not sure the smallfolk will appreciate that."  He still isn't reacting.  Gendry wants him just once to react when Gendry is trying to insult him.  He wonders why he keeps finding himself around people who either find his insults amusing or are too much above his station for him to even try.  "Don't you want to be a good lord?  Or do you want to have your people starve?"

"They won't starve."

"They could."  He's infuriating, really.  "And fall sick.  And march to a war that they're going to lose on your command, without knowing why they're fighting in it, angry that they have to fight even if it's for a good reason, because they won't understand the reason.  And it's all going to be because you let them."

"How would it be my fault if-,"

"The crops fail?  Someone sails across the sea to pillage your village?  It won't be."  The measter taps at the paper on the table.  "But you'll be the one that they blame.  Best you learn to handle that now, when you're sitting in safely in Kings Landing, rather than starving in your castle because the crops didn't grow, wouldn't you say?"

He shoves the paper towards him, and Gendry glares, and then he picks up the paper.

"Spar with me."  Arya is smiling.  Not smiling the way that he was used to, but a bright one, one that seemed to spread across her entire face, eat up the sad parts of her.  He wonders if she's ever been this happy without sword in hand, if she likes the fight or if she just likes to be in control.  "Come on, Gendry."  She had found him at the forge and dragged him away, telling him that lords don't have to work all the time, it's one of the perks.  "We never fight together anymore."

"Yeah?  Why do you think that is?"

They're laughing, poking at each other, and she's racing down the side of the castle walls, sending the loose tones and sand and broken bits of castle walls tumbling to the earth.  He can see where she's going -there's a flat bit of the earth, a remainder of what used to be the castle gardens- but with how fast she's moving he's half afraid that she's going to send herself tumbling down into the ocean below them.  He's not sure why.  He's never even seen her stumble.

"You're scared?"

"Or maybe that your brother can behead me if I lay a hand on you?"

She doesn't laugh, just raises an eyebrow at him and keeps smiling.  They are on the platform now, circling each other, and he knows that they are going to fight.  It's what they do.  They're not used to being gentle with each other.